Memoria
by Pessimistic Giraffe
Summary: *Spoilers Inside* Series of interconnected Drabbles. Drabble Series contains M!Hawke/Fenris
1. One

***SPOILERS AHEAD***

Implies a relationship between two men, so if that isn't your thing, you should know where the 'back' button is.

I didn't really like the actual scene where Fenris comes to comfort Hawke after "All That Remains." It was too impersonal and not emotional enough, imho. So... I took liberties 8)

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Dragon Age or any related titles or characters. David Gaider is a lucky man, indeed.

**R&R?**

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><p>"Take comfort in that you can remember having a family. I cannot even say <em>that<em>." Fenris offered solemnly.

"Yes, I remember…" Hawke started bitterly—his tone quiet and too calm under the circumstances. His eyes were hard, and Fenris could see the muscle in his jaw tense and relax over and again... a tell-tale sign of just how close to the edge his friend really was.

"I remember their smiles. I remember my mother's not-so-subtle meddling. I remember my father's gentle guidance. I remember teaching Carver to nail Bethany's braid to the bed post and laughing as she tried to set his pants on fire the next morning. I remember singing my sister to sleep in father's absence. I remember all the good times.

And I cannot rid myself of the _pain_ of having it all _ripped _away from me." His tone turned dark. "My mother murdered senselessly at the hands of a madman. My father's seemingly eternal sickness before he succumbed to the pull of the fade and finally found peace. Bethany's violent end and having to take Carver's life _myself _so he wouldn't have to suffer the corruption." He chuckled harshly.

"Yes," He said, tanned features bleak once more. "I remember _everything_." The last word whispered with such conviction, that Fenris nearly flinched at the heat of it. Hawke let out a long-suffering sigh, and ran his hand through his dark, unruly tresses.

'Failure after failure,' He thought as his eyes closed. Everything he'd worked so hard to protect was gone, agony and loss left in its wake. He still had yet to come to terms with losing his siblings, but it seemed the Maker felt he had not suffered enough. A sweet ache _pulled_ at his heart at these thoughts, and thoughts of how much more would be stripped from him in the years to come. He felt his face burn, and the alien sting of on-coming tears assaulted him. He fought them off. It would do him no good to fall apart. Opening his eyes, Hawke stared into the fire for a moment before turning to Fenris, his gaze intense.

"Perhaps," he began, "it is by the Maker's own mercy that you remember _nothing_."


	2. Two

I decided to make this into a series of interconnected drabbles. Not exactly one-shots... but they're certainly not Epic chapters. If this update goes well, I'll continue. I'm not very good at writing smut (which this series will eventually contain) or writing in general, but I'm going to give it my best shot. This chapter is SFW mostly. It's loosely inspired by true events that took place the night of my birthday, wherein I got completely... wasted.

Again, this is a Slash fic. If that's not your thing, you know where the back button is.

Thanks

**R&R**

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><p>Drunk!Hawke and Anders came off the floor where a number of the other patrons were still indulging in a customary drinking song and dancing wildly. They were giggling and whispering in each other's ears conspiratorially. Hawke bit playfully at Anders' lobe as they reached the table. Fenris glowered at them from his seat.<p>

Anders laughed haughtily at having the other Mage's attention in the elf's stead, however fleeting.

"What are you over there looking jealous for? You left him, remember?" He snickered to himself in satisfaction as Hawke left him to walk around the table and seat himself between Varric and Fenris.

Hawke's mug of something strongly alcoholic stopped half way to his lips at Anders jab. "Oi!" He said pointing and giving Anders a stern gaze which was slightly muted due to the glazed look in his eyes. It didn't last long as Hawke seemed to think about what Anders had said and broke into peals of high pitched laughter that only seemed hollow to him.

"Well, that is true…" He conceded. "But shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," He sounded carefully as though it were some secret in dire need of being kept, putting his finger to his lips and almost dropping his tankard. He became marginally serious once more, placing a hand firmly around Fenris' shoulders, his arm spanning the full expanse of the smaller man's upper back.

Fenris grabbed his glass and drank deeply the entire time the mage remained touching him, tense and suddenly very warm.

"Fen-Fenris is a good… person. He's a good person." He finished, nodding to himself as if proud for having stood up for his friend and taking another long drink. As the cup fell away so did his arm —sliding lazily down that too-stiff spine— and his face was left smiling an obscene little smile, the look in his eyes anything but innocent. He then added, trying for a straight face,

"And he's hot as _fuck_." Fenris nearly choked on his drink. Hawke persisted, "Hmakes thisssnoise…"

Hawke's words became more slurred as the grin he wore became more pronounced despite his efforts at the upkeep of his 'serious business' face, "Thissscute little noisssewhen I do thisss… thhhing with my tongue…" He moaned loudly —not the least bit for dramatic effect— at the memory. He tried urgently not to think about how incredible the clothed, heated skin had just felt against his bare forearm. Tried not to remember the feel of that muscled back naked beneath him… pressed to his equally naked chest. Or the way it felt to sink his teeth into that shoulder. The taste of sweat-slicked skin. He wanted to think of anything _except the feel_of that flesh later giving under his fingernails at every slow undulation of hips above him… riding him.

Instead, he gripped his drink hard willing away the heavy tightness in his pants, and started up once again with a fit of hysterical giggles at the others excited cat-calls in response to his revelation.

Fenris tried for murderous, but settled for sipping his wine and looking what he _assumed_ was annoyed while blushing deeply upon discovering he could actually no longer _feel_his face. He needed to stop drinking. He set his glass down and scoffed.

"Well, you're not so bad yourself; especially considering you're a _mage_." He spat the word, only teasing. Only when it came to Hawke. And it was true. He was amazingly well built for a spell caster. But a life of hard manual labor as opposed to sitting on ones arse all day in some tower or being waited on hand-and-foot by slaves would have that effect. It gave him a lovely tan as well.

Anders whined in Fenris' direction as Isabela and Merrill sidled up to the table leaning heavily on one another. Isabela transferred her weight to Anders and Merrill crossed her arms on the table and leaned her head on them looking up at everyone.

"At least you know from _experience_. I've only ever seen him shirtless and even then, there's that pesky no-touching rule." Anders said looking longingly into nothingness as he called upon his surprisingly vivid recollection. Isabela raised a hand and said along with Merrill "Same."

Hawke sighed exasperatedly, though still grinning, and replied "Really? All three of you? You have nothing better to do than join together and think _wicked_thoughts about little old me?" He takes another sip.

"At any rate, I know I make a good cock-tease and there's nothing more to it. Could give Varric a run for his money, eh?" He laughed and looked to Fenris. "I don't know how you deal with _one_person being in love with you unrequitedly." Fenris stopped twirling his glass suddenly uncomfortable. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, and he cursed Hawke's never-ending drunken babble. He looked at the mage in question, but only managed a, "What?"

Hawke continued as though Fenris never spoke "I don't know how I'd deal with three of them." He teases across to Anders, Isabela, and Merrill. Varric remained amusedly silent, just watching the scene unfold. Fenris, still inwardly confused, stared across and counted. "Only three?" He felt cold despair sink into his gut. Four. It would be four. Just because he'd walked away, it didn't mean he didn't…

Hawke's eyes dimmed sadly knowing what was going through the other man's mind. Could see it in his eyes, and he looked away. Though the grin hadn't yet faded, he had just enough trouble that he needed to really focus on keeping it up. It was so much easier to ignore everything that hurt. If he pretended that night never happened, then it didn't. He could go on as if he'd never known the other man's heart. As though his had never been ripped from his chest and carried along as the elf walked away from him.

"Only three." He confirmed, consuming his beverage with the glass full-tilt. Three. Magic number, that. Maker knows it's been _three_ years. If Fenris wanted him, surely he'd have changed his mind by now —is what he keeps telling himself— no matter how he catches the elf's hungry stares when he stretches a certain way, or the way his hands clench when accidental physical contact is made, as if trying desperately to keep from seeking Hawke's body out _intentionally_. No matter how he can _feel_ the _ache_ from Fenris' heart as surely as he can feel it in his own: _calling_. Nevertheless, he pushed forward. Determined, however sloshed, to maintain his appearance, if only for himself, his bleeding heart, and Fenris' wishes.

"I make no assumptions that anyone is in love with me, of course. I'm not so egocentric…" He giggles excitedly as he realized his mug was empty and looked almost relieved to say "I think I'll go get another." He wandered off to the bar, smirk fading.

Fenris' face fell by a fraction. He realized it was noticeable as Varric leaned over and pat him on the shoulder with a sympathetic expression, and he chastises himself for indulging too much. "How can he not know?" He asked the table in front of him more than anyone else. Never would he forget the look in Hawke's eyes as he met his end inside him… the soft wide-eyed wonder… the elation… the _love_. All of which Fenris was certain had been reflected in his own. _Had he been wrong?_

"Trust me, Elf, he _knows_. He has to tell himself that. He's an internal pessimist, though he puts up a good front." Varric answers looking back toward the bar, keeping an eye on their increasingly drunken friend. "'Having no hope at all hurts less than having any' I think is how he said it. Didn't make a lick of sense to me, but ask me if I think he believes it." He shook his head. "Humans. I have to ask though… You love him, so why hurt him? Why hurt both of you?"

At this, Isabela and Anders stopped their happy admiring of the local 'merchandise' on the dance floor and concentrated hard on the conversation playing out just inches away.

Fenris gathered his thoughts. Though Hawke had stumbled away more than five minutes ago, Fenris could feel the heat of him scorching as though he were flush against the man. Similarly real was the feeling, the memories, of the night so long ago when he was just that. They affected him still, as a corporeal assault, his body, his senses. It was a memory seared onto his spirit just as the memory of the lyrium being burnt into the flesh of him. Fresh, eternal, and just as haunting. But unlike the latter, it was one he wouldn't trade for Denarius' and every other Tevinter Magister's slow, painful death a hundred times over.

Fenris opened his mouth to reply pain and regret evident in his eyes, when he heard Varric's muttered "Shit." And the dwarf jumped from his seat calling out for Anders over his shoulder, "Blondie, a little help here?" Everyone at the table looked in the direction toward which Varric stalked off.

Hawke had slipped on an imaginary something and landed, one arm supporting him on top of the bar to his right and the other on the stool seat to his left —the only things keeping him aloft— as his legs splayed out before him lazily searching for purchase on the floor. At only succeeding in sliding his feet back and forth several times, he let out a mad squeal and proceeded to giggle some more.

Fenris smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, while Anders stood up to follow the dwarf after seating Isabela who was laughing madly at her friend's plight, startling awake a sleepy Merrill in the process.

It was time to head home. The phrase on everyone's minds as they left The Hanged Man behind: 'Oh, what a night.'


End file.
